


The One at the Beach

by Raikishi



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Family, Birthday Fluff, Fluff, Fourth of July, M/M, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 19:44:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4275663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raikishi/pseuds/Raikishi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Birthday/ beach fic</p><p>Gratuitous fluff for ssyn3 for STAC</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One at the Beach

**Author's Note:**

> That one 4th of July/ birthday/ beach fic that immediately popped into my head because ssyn3 prompted with "ice cream" :)

_He’s beauty and he’s grace. He’s Mr. United States–_

Steve jerks up out of bed, startling badly and slamming a hand down on the alarm clock at his night stand with too much strength. The minute hand peeks up and over the shattered plastic sadly. 

_From sea to shining sea like lady liberty,_ _he reigns over all he sees–_

Steve groans at, burying his face in his hands as the melody sweeps over him. The floor Tony’s built for him is ridiculous, one enormous sprawling space furnished with muted colors. The bed’s apparently big enough for an orgy according to Natasha; but, according to Tony it’s just barely big enough for the two of them (you _kick,_ Rogers). In line with the holiday, JARVIS has cast a hue of red-white-and-blue over everything. 

Another blast of melody warbles through the speakers and Steve whines into his pillow.

“Shut it off JARVIS.”

 _As you wish,_ _sir,_ JARVIS replies, sounding amused, _Ms. Romanoff has requested your presence in the kitchen and I quote:_ Tell Rogers to get his lazy ass downstairs. He’s going to be eating half of this shit anyways. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says agreeably. 

He eyes the bed contemplatively, trying to determine whether or not he can sneak in another half hour when the tune starts up again. 

_I’ve obtained permission from Ms. Romanoff to play the Star Spangled Man if you do not leave the bed within five minutes._

With a grunt, Steve pushes himself upright, wobbling a little as he pads towards the bathroom, kicking off his sleep pants as he goes. 

* * *

 

The kitchen’s a well-organized mess. There’s mayonnaise and ketchup littering the counters along with a scattering of lettuce. There’s also what appears to be a good hundred dollars worth of sparklers that’s been covered in what looks to be red, white, and blue frosting. Steve wisely doesn’t comment on the burnt cupcakes he spies in the trash. 

Bruce and Sam have regulated themselves to an assembly line for sandwiches at the little island in the kitchen. At the counter, Clint and Thor are slicing fruit with scarily efficient moves and tossing bits and pieces into each other’s mouths with incredible aim. Rhodey’s the only one allowed to sleep through the preparations, having gotten in late last night. He’s sleeping off the ride on the sofa bed in the living room, one arm over his head and snoring loudly enough that can all hear it. 

There’s an unspoken rule in the kitchen that Sam and Clint have passed around: no one tell Natasha that she’s the forty-year own suburban mom wrestling her children and incompetent husband into submission. 

It’s like she’s everywhere, darting between the group of them and getting everything into the cooler and picnic baskets. Steve’s positive there’s another dimension in there somewhere because there are things he saw go in that should not have been able to fit. 

Then again, he’s drifting in and out of the entire process, yawning pathetically through the preparations. Even Bruce is more awake than he is, going through the checklist Natasha’s given him with enviable efficacy. 

It takes Steve falling over himself and nearly stabbing himself in the hand before he’s finally let off the food line. Natasha makes a tsking noise at him before shooing him off, shoving him towards the workshop with firm orders to fetch. 

At a different point of his life, Steve’ll take offense to being set on his boyfriend like a well-trained dog. Instead, he just sighs and goes, stealing a watermelon slice from Thor as he leaves the kitchen. 

He’s licking juice off his arm when he literally walks into Tony who makes a high pitched noise in the back of his throat. Instinctively, Steve reaches out to snag an arm around Tony’s waist, reeling him securely in. The billionaire’s jittering a little, hands clenched tight around his thermos; he has that manic, caffeine-strung look he gets when coming off a workshop binge. But he’s still eying Steve with a level of want that makes Steve smirk and swell of confidence.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Tony purrs, going from zero to a hundred in a heartbeat as he leans in, hands quick and steady over Steve’s biceps and hips. He wrinkles his nose a little when he catches sight of what’s on Steve’s tank.

“You are way beyond college frat bro age,” Tony says, tugging at the fabric, thumbing over the words: _Sun’s out. Guns out,_ “I’d say you’re about ninety years pass that.”

“Ninety-one today,” Steve hums in reminder and Tony goes rigid in his arms.

“Er –”

“You made some very generous donations to a couple support groups,” Steve tells him, too pleased with just holding Tony in his arms to sour the moment with anything like resentment. Tony’s understandably busy, particularly these days when it seems like the government’s been riding down on them harder than ever, “Go get dressed. We’re taking the day off and going out.”

Tony eyes Steve’s tank again, eyebrow raised.

“Coney Island,” Steve is quick to cut in when Tony grimaces. The soldier ducks his head, all innocence and puppy-eyes as he leans it, “It’s been a while since me and Bucky’ve been… thought it might be nice to go with everyone… as a team?”

“You are so doing that on purpose,” Tony sighs, tugging at Steve’s cheeks, “I regret letting you know about those stupid big eyes of yours.”

“Is it working, though?”

“As long as we’re not taking the train.”

* * *

 

The Avengers at the beach, understandably draw a crowd, but Steve doesn’t mind signing a few autographs if it means scoring a decent spot close to the water while everyone’s too distracted by them to set up. Thor certainly doesn’t mind swinging children around on his shoulders and running straight for water as their parents tag along, understandably concerned but still too caught up in Thor’s natural charisma to outright panic. Some of the parents look ready to lunge at the god and replace their children on his shoulders. 

“Someone should go with him,” Sam points out, looking between the Avengers before groaning and heading out towards the waters himself. 

Steve pats him companionably on the shoulder as he passes and sets to work setting up the umbrella. He can hear Bucky grumbling, shaken up by the money Tony’s pissed away in the five minutes they’ve spent on the boardwalk. 

“You did not just spend fifty bucks on this,” Bucky says, sounding as close to scandalized as Steve’s ever heard in the past year. 

It’s gotten significantly easier for Bucky to emote these past months, no longer restrained by anger and self-hate. His hair’s been shorn off, kept short on the sides and well styled on top; it’s nothing like the Bucky Steve had grown up with and even less like the Winter Soldier. It’s good to see him like this. 

Tony catches Steve’s eyes and he winks, quirking a smile even as Bucky waves a giant inflatable crab at him in righteous outrage. Somewhere off to the side, Rhodey’s paddling into the waters on a giant inflatable lounge that’s just come out of it’s box. The rest of the Avengers have somehow also acquired inflatable toys, ranging from oversized volleyballs that Clint’s currently juggling for a group of incredulous children to an atrocious dolphin float Sam is using to bob slowly after Thor. 

Bruce parks himself under the shade, seemingly intent on ignoring them as he spreads sunscreen on himself. There’s a Starkpad at his side and Steve knows that Clint’s going to be stealing it in seconds just to drag the scientist out to sea.

“I did not spend fifty bucks on _just_ that,” Tony deadpans.

“Christ, they saw you coming a mile away,” Bucky groans. 

He makes a face at the water guns Natasha deposits on the towel. They’re all still in plastic wraps. Natasha flashes them all a smirk that’s outright feral as she raises two filled guns in her hands; the plastic toys look significantly more dangerous. 

“Oh god, no,” Tony groans, ducking behind Steve who reaches for a suitably patriot red-white-and-blue Super Soaker. 

* * *

 

Tony scowls at him, looking like a drowned cat, squeaking when Steve gets hands under his damp T-shirt. Tony looks rightfully torn between scandalized and aroused when Steve thumbs at his nipples. Steve can feel him firmly settled on one end of the spectrum when Steve reels him in for a kiss, all slick heat and gentle bites. The soldier tugs at the T-shirt again, lifts it to expose the pale skin of Tony’s stomach. 

“I’ll burn,” Tony says, slapping at Steve’s hands before sniffing delicately, “I have sensitive skin.”

“I’ll put sunscreen on you,” Steve offers, raising an eyebrow and trying to look properly seductive. If the heavy-lidded smirk on Tony’s face is any indication, it’s working well. 

“Any excuse to get your hands on me,” Tony sighs, stripping his shirt and lying facedown on his stomach. He wiggles his hips a little, glancing back over his shoulder with a smirk.

It’s then that Clint nails the both of them with a well-aimed inflatable ball and it’s ricochet. 

“Family-friendly beach!” Rhodey yells at them, cackling from his lounge. 

Sam’s hanging off the sides of it, making faces at them in between his laughter. Bucky grins at the two of them as he paddles out into the ocean a little, kicking himself in small tight circles with the sort of easy confidence he had ninety years ago. He’s wearing a smile that’s loose and easy with contentment. He gives Steve a thumbs up and laughs when Sam smacks him for encouraging them. 

“Ugh, jackasses,” Tony grouses, throwing his arm out. 

It lands neatly in Steve’s crotch. Steve thinks it’s an accident for about a second before Tony applies pressure, sliding his hand upwards in a deliberate move. The soldier shivers, leaning in a little, hand landing on the curve of Tony’s spine. Steve’s thumb catches in the elastic of Tony’s shorts, tugging a little to reveal creamy skin. It’s then that Clint nails them with another ball.

“But, it’s my birthday,” Steve sighs just to hear Tony break into laughter besides him.

* * *

 

“Okay, that is seriously unfair,” Tony whines as him, twisting so his head settles in Steve’s lap.

The soldier raises an eyebrow at him over his popsicle, lets his tongue drag along the sides, filthy and shameless. Tony’s fingers dig into his hips, thumbs following the angle of the hipbone as Steve points his tongue, flicking it across the top of the popsicle. Natasha snipes him with her water gun, quick and easy.

“It’s like wrassling cats,” Clint eyeballs them both hard, far too judgmental for a someone they’ve caught in a SHIELD closet, sandwiched between Bruce and Natasha.

Natasha smirks when they roll their eyes at Clint in synchrony, “At least we _tried_ for discretion. _Away_ from impressionable young children.”

Tony snorts, fingers plucking at the drawstring of Steve’s swim trunks. He’s scarcely paying attention, seems to just want something to do with his hands more than anything else. 

“So that wasn’t a conversation about road head I heard over the Quinjet coms last week?” Tony asks, too sweetly innocent for the question. 

Clint’s eyes widen almost comically, the barest dusting of pink high on his cheeks as Natasha narrows her eyes down at the billionaire. Steve chokes on the popsicle, holding it far away from his face as he breaks into hysterics. Tony swipes the thing from him easily, lips curved in a pretty bow over it before he takes it into his mouth, arching a little in Steve’s lap.

“Oh my god. I am so afraid to ask what the hell I just walked into,” Sam groans as he approaches.

He eyes the group of them sternly before settling down besides Bruce who has apparently woken up at some point in the conversation because his ears and cheeks are pink when he sits up, removing the tablet from his face. 

“Talking about sex,” Tony says, “Let us know when you finally get some poor gal to go out with you.”

“I don’t need this from someone who fished Cap’s shield outta the ocean and then sat around, pining for six months before _finally_ making a move.”

“It still worked,” Steve reassures him when Tony pouts, leaning down to press a chaste kiss against Tony’s forehead.

“Aw… gross, take it elsewhere,” Sam mutters, nailing Steve with the seran wrap from the sandwich he had fished out. 

“Aw, Sammy. It’s only natural when two people love each other very muc –”

The group of them dissolve into laughter as Falcon crams half a sandwich into Iron Man’s mouth.

* * *

 

Bucky, Sam and Rhodey take off right before the fireworks are due to go off. No one makes a comment about it but they’re clearly all remembering the most recent episode. Last time Bucky had had an episode in the tower, it’d been in the workshop - when Tony had been working on the arm. Steve can still taste the frantic terror on the back of his tongue as he launched himself down the stairs. The faint echo of his footsteps as he vaults to the door, heart in his throat at the sight of the Winter Soldier bent over Tony. Steve can summon the memory at will if he closes his eyes, can have it play in vivid color. Behind his eyelids, he can track the rivulets of blood down a metal plated arm.

Tony waves a sparkler lazily at Bucky when he reaches for one of the wine coolers, “‘kay Barnes, on a level of want-to-knife-me-through-the-brain to I’m-resigned-to-a-mild-simmering-hatred-for-you, how’s this for you?’

“Wave it at me again and I’ll put it through your eye,” Bucky replies easily, shoving at Tony’s head.

Steve sighs. At least they can laugh about it. 

He makes a quick headcount of the few of them that are left. Thor’s handing out inflatable toys and water guns to children, unloading everything Tony’s bought on them. Clint, Natasha, and Bruce have disappeared and he’s not too keen on going after them. There are certain things he only needs to see once.

“Kids are gone, we’re finally alone,” Tony sighs in his ear as the billionaire drapes himself over Steve’s shoulder.

“Despite the thousand or so beach goers?” Steve asks wryly.

“It’s dark,” Tony coos, hand palming the front of Steve’s swim shorts.

The soldier extracts him with great difficulty, “Tony.”

“Saw a coupla dark places by the rocks.”

“By the rocks,” Steve repeats and Tony raises an eyebrow at him, daring him to resist.

Steve doesn’t bother pretending to think on it. He gets an arm around Tony’s waist, dragging him close and slotting them hips together. Tony sighs, mouth parting prettily in a sigh. Steve hides a shudder into Tony’s shoulder, manhandling him a little until they’re both standing. 

The billionaire doesn’t make it easy for him, easily distracted. Steve nips at Tony’s mouth in reprimand, tracking the wandering hands moving down his body. Tony’s teeth catches roughly against Steve’s neck in retaliation, digging hard to leave a bite that’ll last for more than a few seconds. They’ve done testing on that - _extensive_ testing on the durability of Tony’s bites. 

Steve’s hands tighten around Tony’s hips, tries to make them less obvious as they make their way over and around people, dodging them like landmines as they trip over one another. It’s a good thing most everyone’s turned their attention elsewhere in anticipation. 

“You good though?” Tony asks, eyes flicking towards the sky, where the fireworks are due to start any second now. 

Steve lifts one shoulder in a shrug.

“If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here,” he mutters, ducking his head. It sounds petulant and mulish even to his own ears. Thankfully, Tony doesn’t remark, doesn’t do anything but hum agreeably, stroking up the back of Steve’s neck to draw him in for a kiss.

“Now about those rocks,” Steve says, trying to flippant as he urges Tony backwards, aiming for the outpocketing of rocks he can see in the distance.

* * *

 

“… I can’t believe you bought Captain America condoms,” Steve huffs into Tony’s hair later when they’re sticky and disgusting. 

He bends to lick at the pooling of sweat at the dip of Tony’s spine, following the curve of the man’s back up and biting roughly at Tony’s neck. 

“Mmm, I _did_ get you something though,” Tony purrs, pliant and easy in the afterglow. He arches upwards obligingly, lets Steve dig his teeth into the billionaire’s waist and hips, tracking the faint bruises left there. 

“The condoms?”

Tony swats him in the head, “Don’t be deliberately obtuse.”

Steve leans backwards easily when Tony squirms, allowing space for Tony to turn in his lap. The billionaire hums as he settles, deliberately grinding himself downwards, fixing Steve with a sharp smirk that’s all teeth. 

“I was thinking Paris. Museums … dinner at the Eiffel Tower?” Tony leans in, arching his back a little, “Got a little villa there we could … make use of.”

He grinds downwards again, swirls his hips in one smooth easy move that makes Steve shudder.

“Yeah…that - that sounds good,” he manages, voice going high, “You don’t have to work?”

“I could take a week off,” Tony waves off his concerns flippantly, “Been spending too long in the office and in the workshop anyway.”

“You don’t have to do this just –”

“I’m doing this because I want to spend time with you,” Tony interrupts. He peers up at Steve through his lashes, all limpid eyes and concern. Steve doesn’t care what Tony says; his puppy-eyes have nothing on Tony.

“Sounds good to me,” Steve agrees. His hands slip down, cupping the curve of Tony’s ass and lifting him up. There’s a low growl working in Steve’s chest as he leans in, catching the gasp in Tony’s mouth and eating it up. 

“Mmm… a very happy birthday to me.”

 


End file.
